


My Dear (your mind is playing tricks on you)

by whereisthebepis (inlightofvisa)



Series: The McCall-Hale Diaries [23]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is Derek, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Scott is awkward, Stiles tries to be sexy, and fails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlightofvisa/pseuds/whereisthebepis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott's gonna find out eventually. And find out he does. Though not willingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Dear (your mind is playing tricks on you)

**Author's Note:**

> OH MY GOODNESS THIS IS SO LATE HOPEFULLY Y'ALL THINK THIS IS GOOD
> 
> I'M OUT

“Shhhhhh,” Derek hisses at Stiles as they flop onto the couch. “Scott is out cold.”

Stiles just mouths at Derek’s neck. Derek gasps and writhes because Stiles does these really amazing things with his teeth and his mouth and he’d describe them if he could but most of the time when Stiles does these things Derek’s brain turns to mush. Meaning the most he can articulate during the necking session is a very, very aroused, “Bluh,” or an “Ohmygodyes.” This is one of those “ohmygodyes” situations.

“I thought you said that we had to be quiet,” Stiles purrs, attempting to look seductive and batting his eyes. Derek tries not to laugh. “What? This is sexy!”

“No, it’s not,” Derek snorts, wrapping his arms around Stiles and smushing them impossibly close together. “You just look like a tortoise having a seizure.”

Stiles attempts to wriggle out of Derek’s hold.

“You’ve never seen one of those, so you wouldn’t know what they look like,” he says matter-of-factly. Although it’s really hard for Derek to take Stiles seriously in an argument when he’s sitting on Derek’s crotch. Stiles then points a finger at Derek. “And no, I’m not a prime example of what those look like, I’m not even a tortoise so that doesn’t even make sense.” Derek laughs and drags Stiles down for a kiss.

“You’re great,” he says quietly, running his hands up and down Stiles’ sides and hitching his shirt up. Stiles smirks and suddenly snakes up Derek’s body like the sneaky little shit that he’s been since the tender old age of three years old.

“You’re pretty swell yourself,” Stiles whispers, sliding his hands underneath Derek’s shirt. The places where Stiles’ slender fingers meet Derek’s skin feel like tiny points of warm light, like the way stars feel in the night sky. He shivers as Stiles continues to slide Derek’s shirt up and moans into Stiles’ mouth as they surge towards each other. Derek’s so caught up in the little piece of heaven that is kissing Stiles that he nearly misses the tiny click and creak of a door opening. He freezes and Stiles is suddenly dead weight on chest, tongue frozen in his mouth. Definitely not a scarring picture for Scott when he finally makes his way down the stairs.

“Hey Derek, hey Stiles,” Scott says sleepily, sliding across the floor in his socks. Derek and Stiles are still joined at the mouth, attempting to not breathe and failing miserably. Scott trips into the kitchen and Derek hears a clink of a glass and the rush of the faucet before Scott emerges with a full glass of water. “’Night Derek, ‘night Stiles.” And then Scott’s trudging up the stairs back up to his room. Stiles finally takes his mouth off Derek’s and sits up. Still on Derek’s crotch.

“Ohmygod,” he says, “Your brother is a _potato_.” Derek stares Stiles straight in the eyes, smirking a bit as he lowers them both back onto the couch.

“We’re only _half_ related,” he grumbles, kissing Stiles on the cheek and letting his hands wander through the wilds of Stiles’ body. Stiles shudders, going limp on Derek’s chest. Derek feels like he’s being crushed by a small, awkward, gangly giraffe and chuckles at the image. He feels Stiles’ thin fingers on his and he’s being guided to the waistband of Stiles’ boxers. And then the door clicks open again. Scott looks over the bannister.

“Did I leave the kitchen light on?” he asks. Stiles freezes and Derek rolls his eyes.

“No, okay, go to bed,” he growls. Scott disappears from the railing before Derek hears the door click close and then open again. Scott thunders down the staircase.

“Wait, _what are you doing_ ,” he says, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Derek looks at his little brother before looking at his boyfriend and realizing that he still has his hands down Stiles’ pants. Literally. He huffs.

“What does it _look_ like I’m doing?” Stiles makes a noise that sounds like a dying chicken.

“Scott, we have to tell you something,” he says stiffly. Derek doesn’t make an effort to move his hands, starting to stroke Stiles’ hips with his thumbs. Stiles glares at him. “You’re _not_ helping!”

Scott just pulls the blanket over his eyes.

“No, no, we don’t need to talk about anything, Derek _please_ get your hands out of Stiles’ _boxers_ oh my _god_ ,” he whines.

“What if I don’t want to?” Derek smirks, drumming his fingers on Stiles’ hipbones. Stiles attempts to bite back a moan and fails miserably.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Scott says, sitting on the ground in a heap of blankets. “No, no, get your hands off my best friend, oh my god Derek.”

“What if I don’t want him to?” Stiles says in a strangled voice. Derek looks at him, surprised before sliding his hands down to Stiles’ thighs. Stiles just collapses forward onto Derek’s chest, surprising them both with an “oof.”

“Oh my _god_ this is a _thing_ ,” Scott shrieks, running upstairs and leaving the blanket behind. Derek rolls his eyes and is in the middle of giving Stiles a consolation make-out session when he hears Scott’s yell of “Moooooooooom!” ring through the house. He sighs.

“Mom doesn’t even care!” he yells.

“Derek and Stiles are kissing!” Scott shouts into his phone, slamming his door shut. “I’m gonna call Stiles’ dad! Yes it _is_ an emergency!”

Stiles’ eyes nearly bug out of his head before he unhooks Derek’s hands from his boxers and races upstairs and bursts through Scott’s door. Derek hears them wrestling on the ground before Scott yells a “Fine fine fine I won’t call your dad just please _don’t_!” and Scott’s door closes again. Stiles comes back downstairs, his t-shirt slightly rumpled.

“What did it take?” Derek asks, impressed. Stiles smirks and slithers up Derek’s torso, licking an obscene stripe up his neck.

“I told him we’d make out on his bed if he called my dad,” he says.

Derek laughs for a full five minutes.


End file.
